The countdown has begun for next summer’s wedding as oldest grandchild, Jackson, marries his sweetheart, Amanda – and I couldn’t be more excited.

The lovebirds paid a quick visit a few weeks ago, and I so enjoyed learning more about the wedding plans. As they cleaned guns for Grandpa, played several rousing games of Rummikub with us and Jackson’s brother Jagger, and helped with household chores, I learned about the June 2020 nuptials.

Throughout the long weekend, I became even more convinced that they were meant for each other. They’re fun, respectful and their favorite saying is, “We’ll figure it out.” I love that positive outlook! Clearly, they’re gearing up for a lifetime of adventures and experiences.

Of course, some 48 years ago, we were their age and planning our wedding, too. If their wedded bliss is anything like ours, their combined sense of humor is sure to come in handy.

For instance, there was the time I baked an apple pie for Husband Carl as a special treat. As I readied it for the oven, I grabbed a tablespoon and shook sugar all over the pie, and then reached for the cinnamon. As I scattered the spice, I wondered why the cinnamon had a greenish cast to it. I looked in horror at the jar that was marked “cumin” and hastily grabbed a damp paper towel to wipe off the disgusting powder and save the pie. With more sugar and yes, cinnamon this time, I baked the pie, and no one was the wiser – at least I never heard differently.

Years ago, we visited Hawaii. Our agenda included a formal dinner cruise along Waikiki Beach at sunset. I had a “to die for” peach gown for the occasion and looked forward to a romantic evening. For some reason, though, despite my never being seasick, actually eating on the boat proved to be a disaster. I became more and more woozy as the cruise wore on, and burial at sea was looking like a pretty attractive option. When we returned to shore, I scrambled down the ramp toward a greasy dumpster – evening gown swirling in the tropical breeze – and heaved into the trash. My husband, of course, pretended to have never seen me before.

At one point in our marriage, Carl owned a service station. My job was to bill customers monthly using their individual invoices that I attached to the statement. One July day I planned to take the project home. I headed to the car with the box of invoices and placed them on top of the car as I fished for my keys.

Once I opened the door, I promptly forgot the statements, got behind the wheel, and “flipped a ‘U’” to head home. Well, it’s easy to guess the rest. I was oblivious to the fact that scores of invoices were sailing like confetti over the intersection of 16th and Sheridan.

From the station, Carl saw the mess and promptly sent an employee with a paper bag to salvage as many papers as possible, dodging locals and tourists alike. Surprisingly, only a few papers were missing from the “bag o’ invoices,” and only a handful had skid marks on them …

We kept smiling and know Jackson and Amanda will do the same.

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